No one else compares
by It's my note
Summary: After the three years


_John, please come home.- SH_

_No, I'm staying out tonight. I'm not dealing with this shit anymore.- JW_

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I couldn't risk it. He was going to kill all of you and I couldn't risk that.- SH_

_'Sorry" hardly covers a fraction of...no. You couldn't tell me that? Three years, Sherlock. Do you have any idea? Any at all?- JW_

_I was too worried, I'm so fucking sorry, John. I know, you have had to live without me for three years but also think, I had to live without you too. Even if I were to have told you, I would still have had to jump. They were still watching.- SH_

_Sherlock...I just can't forget the past three years of...god, do you have any idea what hell you put me through?- JW_

_Just please come back to the flat, or tell me where you are so I can see you, please.- SH_

_I know it was not ideal for you either but at least you knew I was alive. I had to watch you be buried.-JW_

_You don't have to forgive me, I just want to see you. Otherwise I would have had to bury you. I am so sorry, John. Do you honestly think I would have done that if I didn't have to?- SH_

_No, I don't. I'm headed back now. Just...I'll be there soon.- JW_

_Thank you, I missed you. You may not think I did but I did.- SH_

_I missed you too. Though I suppose that may be fairly obvious.- JW_

John turned quickly on his heel, heading back to 221B Baker street. Sherlock was alive. Really, truly alive. The past three years... The grieving, the self- loathing, the regret and despair. All for nothing. He was furious, livid. He wanted nothing more than to walk out on Sherlock the same way he had been left but the temptation of seeing him was too much to avoid. He quickly flew up the stairs to his (their) flat and cursed himself once more before walking into the front room.

Sherlock took one glance at John and almost fell to his knees in relief. Sherlock had been pacing, overcome by worry. What if John hated him? What if he wanted nothing to do with him? Sherlock walked over to John slowly, not wanting to alarm him. They were standing face to face, Sherlock studied John. He had been depressed, on medication. He had also been limping again, and looks like he doesn't sleep much. John could almost feel three years of pain float away the second he locked eyes with Sherlock. He was dangerously thin, his dark curls dull and lifeless from years of mistreatment. Sherlock had not been well in his exile.

John wasn't sure if he should hug or punch the man, both sounded equally appealing.

"Sherlock...you're."

Sherlock cut him off. He slowly put his arms around his waist and pulled him close. John started sobbing into his chest, trying to stay composed but failing. Sherlock put his face in John's neck, inhaling the scent he remembered from every time John entered a room. He just closed his eyes, forgetting anything from the past.

"God...Sherlock.." John sobbed, unable to check his tears and hold back three years of anger, sadness and hurt. It all let loose and he didn't even bother trying to hide it.

"John, John shh. It's alright, I'm finally here." Sherlock pulled back a little and put his hand on John's face. He looked into his eyes, they were cold and lonely, slowly getting better. They both smiled through the tears.

"You are...the...biggest..ass. I hate you, Sherlock. I'm...god, I'm so glad you're back." He choked out, staring into the eyes he thought he would never see again. "Don't you ever leave me again. Ever, Holmes."

"I won't. I promise I will never leave you." Sherlock managed, "As long as you will have me, I will be here. God...John..I...fuck." Sherlock shoved himself back into John's arms, clutching him as close as he could. He could feel John's hands shaking on his back. For each of them, it feels like it's been 20 years. Sherlock had been able to see John every few months, only small glances from down the street, then having to leave again. At those few times, he had wanted nothing more than to just talk to John. It had been so hard to watch him in that pain when he was right there. It was torture, Sherlock didn't have feelings often other than a constant state of arrogance and curiosity, but when it came to John. No one else compared.

Since his "death" John had hardly cried. There was the occasional one tear rolling down his face in a manly way, but never like this. He had never openly sobbed over it. John pulled back, looking composed again. Sherlock started speaking first,

"If I stay, people can't know. I have to remain dead." The realization hit John, nothing had changed. No one knew, no new information. Things had to stay how they were.

"I will do anything for you to be able to stay. I can't have you leave again."

It was because neither of them are very touchy- feely so having them standing there holding each other wasn't something that happened often. They both parted and John proceeded to make tea, Sherlock sat in his chair across from John. The chair John hadn't dared gone near. It wasn't the same but it was as close as they were going to get.

"I'm not sure if you will, but would you tell me where you've been?" John was a little tense. He was worried Sherlock would leave him again.

"Well at first I stayed in London, but then I realized two things. The first, people would recognize me and because I was on my own there was no one to help hide me. And the second, if I kept seeing you I would end up coming back. Which I couldn't do. Then I went to America. I lived in Detroit. I worked as a janitor at a hospital. I did that because it was something a little productive, and I could keep a low profile. Also, doctors make stupid mistakes. Since janitors have keys to basically everything, I could help. I mostly did what the nurses and doctors missed on patients. That was the closest I could get to helping people. I came back to London about a week ago and couldn't stay away. It was doing me no good, and it's harder to be homeless than people think. Actually, the minute I decided to come back was this morning when I saw you ordering coffee. You were so dull and lifeless I couldn't stand it. I could tell you hadn't made any friends and you were stuck in the same dull routine. I want to get as close as we can to what we had before."

John was really surprised, for some reason he couldn't imagine Sherlock in Detroit. From what he had heard, it was a ghetto. Car capital of the world, but a ghetto. John looked at Sherlock, he had changed. John had already noted the change in weight and hair, but there was something else. It was in his eyes. They were darker. John knew that look, he had it himself. Depression. Sherlock just stared into the distance. What is he were to start again? He could go back to his job with John. It would be somewhat of a public announcement considering how people thought of him. Moriarty was dead so none of it should matter. They sat in silence for a few minutes, mostly just each acknowledging that they were each there.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Stay hidden until I am healthy again. Then I will come out." John gave him a confused look. For a minute Sherlock didn't understand, then it clicked.

"No, I mean telling the public I'm back. Not the other way. No I don't intend to do that for a while." John was shocked but didn't show it. He didn't comment, only because he wasn't ready to come out too.

"Thank you, John." He looked confused yet again.

"For what?"

"For what you said. About me being human. You are the only person, with the exception of Molly, to actually understand the human side of me. To genuinely see that side of me and accept it, it's beautiful and thank you." John blushed, not something he did often. Did Sherlock just call him beautiful?

"Anytime."

**So I'm going to leave it up to you guys whether I leave it as a one-shot or if I continue it :)**


End file.
